


My Short Stories

by 123scout123



Category: No Fandom
Genre: My own short story, Other, a lil weird, i just need some feedback please, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:13:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/123scout123/pseuds/123scout123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is where I will put my short stories, hope you like them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Short Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment with any feedback I want to write stories one day and love any feedback. Thank you for reading :)

The Epidemic of Emotion (Part 1)

 

Rage has a sour taste to it. It lingers on the tongue, implying it will come back again and again. I can feel it now, the aftertaste haunts me, forces me to feel it. It is never a surprise that some random person in the near vicinity is angry; I've found that almost every human, man and child alike, harbors some deep, residual wrath. And yet every time that anger surfaces I can only sympathize with those poor unfortunate souls.

Their lives are manipulated by those frivolous things. Parts of me expresses something close to envy over the mortal's endless capacity of emotions, though I would not know what jealousy feels like, per se. I can sense the thought and emotions of sentient beings, but no matter how many times I see the auras or feel the waves or taste the sentiment, I cannot replicate the process one goes through to feel. It's more of a desperation really; I yearn for feelings as much as or more than human beings lust for knowledge or longevity. I have come to recognize depression and glee through my senses rather than intuition, I have never had the privilege of being suicidal or giddy. I want —no— I need to know what it is like to feel infatuation, heartbreak, and serenity.

I know everything about emotion and life, and how normal people live. I can tell you the science of feeling, what orange feelings include, what ecstasy and loathing feel like on the skin, how surprise sounds, and whether or not admiration is a stronger taste than acceptance. Gods how my mind is a jar of universal knowledge: it hurts to know so much some times, the seams of my skin have been resown countless times. I am a stardust doll, whose flesh sings of the seas of planets long cold.

The most fascinating thing has occurred; I remember my dreams. And while the darkness of those few important ones elude me, I recall, in great detail the vibrant hues of my more relatively joyful dreams.

I dream in shades of happiness: pink for spring fever, baby blue for maternal joy, lavender for love, and peach for satisfaction. These dreams sound lovely, I know I would assume they were if it were not my mind that was being pulled apart. I wish I could tell you, who ever you are, that these nightly affairs brought me pleasure, but the opposite could not be more true. I have pains behind my eyes, even as I sleep, every time my subconscious mind drifts off and brings memories of pure emotions to my psyche.

It is not fair that I have to writhe in the emotions of thousands without having any experience or memory of feeling something myself, it's not fair I tell you. I should be feeling indignation over this, but alas, I fear feeling is beyond my comprehension.

I walk among these creatures, have watched their ascent from the ocean, seen their ancestors die before names were given to words, and I will be here when they are gone and another species walks where they have. And I will continue my relentless vigil over this new species. I am what I am, and what I am has no known name, I am positive I knew my name at one point in time, but over the eons it seems as if I grow more forgetful. I even theorize I once felt pain, and longing, and excitement, but have lost that power as the dust and sun has numbed me to living. This existence is not fair, and I grow weary of it all; the seemingly infinite stream of light and salt that burns me and sends me soaring, the ugliness of living things, the unbreakable, irresponsible chain of evolution. They all bore me. The only thing that piques my plateaued spirit is the impressionable, expression-able nature of homo-sapiens.

They walk and run and think and calculate and kill and thrive. What always baffles me is how often they need to recharge themselves, it is as if living is too much of a hassle for them. As if enigmas and conundrums and sentiment steal the life out of them, I just do not understand. They come out of those icky gooey wombs so eager to breath, yet drift their subconscious seas for half their days. Though, I cannot fault them, it is a delightful respite from realities harshness most times. I sleep now, for days on end. I never used to sleep, or I do not recall ever sleeping. I sometimes think about what my own fate will entail, but I had never assumed I would begin to slip by sleeping. I ponder as to what my own afterlife will be like, I have done nothing valuable with this existence given to me, all I have done and will do until the end of times, is interfere. I just walk and roam and fly among humans trying to gather snippets of all the emotions available to them. But I digress, I never used to sleep, but I find myself now falling into an unconscious state so deep and secure that I sometimes pretend this is death and that it is what humans would call, "peaceful". 

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